Torus
by dblauvelt
Summary: Completed story. The TARDIS crew encounter an ancient toriodal planetiod; caught between a rock (Mawdryn) and hard place (Terminus). Enjoy or loathe. Your choice!
1. Chapter 1

The sun was bright and warm, the waves blue and clear, the breeze a gentle caress…

"About a 9.4 on the Jovanka Scale, Doctor."

"Is that all?" by the tone of his voice, he sounded slightly hurt.

"Minus 0.6 points for lack of bathing huts, cold drinks and showers..."

"The TARDIS is only three hundred feet away, you know." He unfurled his cream Panama hat and rammed it atop his head.

"And there is a distinct lack of Spanish waiters wearing tight leather pants..."

"Hmmm....." the Doctor turned away from gazing across the sea, and stared down at Tegan who lay sprawled upon a blanket in her light blue swimming suit, a white flower lodged beside her left ear. He slid his hands into the pockets of his pajama trousers. "I managed to get us to one of the tropical wonders of the world, in an era without war or destruction, at the exact time and place that I said I would, to a place that most people would give their lifetime salaries to spend one day at... and you only give it a 9.4?" he asked indignantly.

"Sorry Doc, but amenities cost you," Tegan replied as she rubbed some oil onto her shoulder.

He bent down over her, until they were nose-to-upside-down-nose to each other. Tegan stared back at him through her sunglasses. She felt something cold and wet press against her skin as he handed her a glass of iced tea.

"9.6?" he asked, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Definitely," she smiled back. "9.8 if it's a Long Island."

"Come on," he sighed. "You won't want to miss this."

"Miss what?"

"Sit up and see for yourself."

Tegan pulled herself, somewhat reluctantly, off the beach towel and slid the shades up off her face. The Doctor squatted down beside her and swung his feet off over the edge of the ridge.

Before them lay a massive semi-circular bowl, with the gray walls rearing up on three sides like a meteor crater. At the base lay a swath of emerald sand, which swirled out into the crystal blue-green water that filled the bottom and led out to the sea. As the walls of the edifice pinched out into the ocean, they were breached and melted, forming deceptively delicate sea arches and columns that rose upwards out of the water.

As she watched the, gray rock and green sand seemed to pale and bleach in color, as the vast shadow of the crater walls started to fill in the bowl.

"Behind you," said the Doctor quietly.

She slowly shifted around until she was facing westward and Tegan then realized that she must have fallen asleep for longer than she had thought.

They sat there and watched the sun, a magnificent globe of orange and gold, slowly settle onto the horizon. They could feel the wind rustling through their hair and over their clothes, but all else was still.

Tegan felt a huge feeling of the moment fill her. The thought that this was a moment to which no time machine could take her back to, that there were circumstances and emotions that she could never relive. It was her's. And the Doctor's. A moment outside of time.

"What is this place?" Tegan whispered eventually.

"Papakolea, according to the natives," answered the Doctor. "Or will be..." he said more uncertainly. "Geologically speaking, we're sitting on the remains of a cinder cone whose insides have slid into the sea. The green sand beach is a result of olivine crystals being weathered out of the volcanic rock..."

"Papakolea," Tegan rolled the syllables around in her mouth, savoring the vowels. Although it hurt her to look near it, the sun was almost half gone now, and the reflection shimmering across the ocean was just as blinding. "Polynesian?" she hazarded.

"Well, Hawaiian at any rate," he responded, lowering the brim on his hat slightly. "If anyone ever asks, I've never been to Rapanui."

Tegan took a long breath and savored the scent of paradise. "I've changed my mind."

"Oh?" the Doctor asked distantly as he stared out into the purple and magenta sea.

"It's utterly beautiful: 9.9." Tegan revised. "Thanks."

"Sorry?" He seemed to pull himself back to the present and turned to her.

"Thanks. I mean thanks for taking me, I mean us, here to see this..." She trailed off as she watched him. He started to fidget and frown slightly as he always did when he felt uncomfortable. To cover the awkward pause, she hurriedly asked, "When are we anyway?"

"Friday," he replied firmly.

"You don't know, do you?"

He turned sharply to her, but his frown quickly leapt up to a grin. "Somewhen between 200 and 2000 A.D."

Tegan smiled at his sudden mood change, glad to be away from the previous moment. She leant back on her elbows and pulled her shades down again, "As long as it isn't December 1941, it's fine by me."

The Doctor gave a slight groan. "Yes, well, your geography needs more help than your history, Tegan." His voice gained in volume as he launched into full lecture mode, Romper Room Style especially for Tegan. He stood up and gestured expansively around him. "Papakolea is on mainland Hawaii, near South Point, while Pearl Harbor is located-"

She cut him off before he could hit full swing, "Where's Nyssa?"

The Doctor pointed upwards with his index finger.

Tegan stared blankly back at him.

"Turlough's snorkeling, if you're interested."

Tegan gave a sort of snort and waited.

After a few moments it became evident that the Doctor was finished.

"Doctor," she repeated slowly, "Where's Nyssa?"

"I've just told you," he replied. "She was examining the marine life on the shore earlier this morning."

"And now?"

"She's parasailing." The Doctor pointed more accurately to a dot coasting across the deepening sky.

Tegan sat up so fast she nearly rolled off the ridge.

* * *

Nyssa spent the morning examining the tidal pools, observing the various life forms that had collected in the warm, shallow waters among the rocks. She knew little about the marine organisms of Earth, so the Doctor had dug through the TARDIS cupboards and fished out a hand-held bioscanner for her. Together, she and the Doctor had rolled up their trousers and hopped about in the salty pools. The water-proofed scanner had bleeped happily away, and scanned the various life forms that she pointed it at, providing not only a detailed bio-schematic, but also gave an approximate location and time period for the organisms.

She had a playful urge to point the scanner at the Doctor, but resisted- just.

The Doctor had given his own scientific narrative of the various starfish and crustaceans they encountered, but Nyssa refrained from the occasional correction, afraid that he might be offended and take the scanner away.

Nyssa had been fascinated by the variety of life that could be found in such a tiny biosystem. Fascinated, until she picked up an eight-inch long, rather slimy, tubular organism: "Sea Cumber," read the green display, "Holothurian." The thing had squirted water at her face, causing her to flinch in surprise, tightening her grip. In response, the creature eviscerated all over her.

A very soggy and nauseous Nyssa retreated to the TARDIS to clean herself off. She took a quick shower and changed into her bathing suit. Over this, she slipped on some fatigues with a large knee pocket for the scanner and a large yellow T-shirt and headed back to the control room. She was still pondering the value of suicide as a defensive measure in such a creature when she came across a cupboard that she had never seen before, stuck in a recess in the TARDIS corridors.

Curious, she poked her head within to discover a bizarre assemblage of harnesses and sheets of fabric. For lack of anything better to do, she had lugged it out and dumped it at the Doctor's feet, who was examining the stratigraphy of the cinder cone walls. He prodded at it, and rather absently explained the concept to her before he lost interest and started hunting for seashells.

The physics of it had seemed simple enough to Nyssa, and so, after collecting a helmet for safety from the TARDIS, she carried the equipment up to the top of the ridge, crammed her head of brown curls under the helmet, and tightened the strap. She fumbled with the fastenings of the harnesses for a half hour and then stood poised on the edge. There she remained, taking deep breaths, waiting to collect an updraft, and more importantly, her courage.

And she stepped off the edge.

That was two hours ago. Since then she had floated out over the ocean, learning how to pull the cords that controlled her kite/sail. It had taken a bit of practice, but she could steer pretty well by now, and played on the gentle updrafts of warm air. In the distance she could see the large sloping volcanic masses of Mauna Loa and the snow-capped top of Mauna Kea behind it, the black lava fields blanketed the earth between them. Along the coast she could see areas of green that spoke of a tropic lushness that she had yet to experience.

Apparently there were black sand beaches as well, with tall palms and waterfalls, but the Doctor had expressed concerns about blending in with the natives and altering history. So they had remained in their secluded cove, which was fine by Nyssa.

She hadn't realized how calm she could feel so high above the ground, how still everything seemed, how tiny. It wasn't exactly like flying, but she still felt as if she were part of a dream, or a memory. She felt different somehow. Removed.

The old Nyssa wouldn't have done this, wouldn't have dreamed of trying something like this, she thought as she watched the sun touch upon the horizon. Done something so dangerous, so silly.

All she could think about as she stood on the ledge were equations of mass, gravity and aerodynamics and how logical it was. And half a millisecond later, as she stepped into thin air, all she could think about was how absurd mathematics was and how much she still wanted to do in life and how far down the ground actually was and why was she doing this, why, why was she flying?

In those three seconds she experienced a lifetime of emotions, without a scrap of logic to be found anywhere, crammed up into a lead ball and shoved down her throat with a shot of adrenaline. All because she had chosen to jump. To make a change.

It was wonderful, Nyssa decided, as the last of the sun slipped below the waves.

Landing, however, was another matter.

She spied a figure lying sprawled out below her, and a tiny grin played upon her face.

* * *

Think like a fish, he thought.

Turlough dove once more beneath the surface and tried again. Beneath the water, his legs pressed together and his arms flat against his side, he began to wiggle his body, so that from a side profile he looked like a propagating sine wave. Slowly, and awkwardly he began to swim forward. After less than a minute, however, he was at the surface again, gasping for air.

More like a dolphin, he reprimanded himself as he floated on his back, drawing great heaving breaths. Some water splashed into his mouth, causing him to gag.

He started treading water as he coughed it up, and he realized just how far out from shore he had swam. He was just inside the crescent of sea arches before the open ocean. He had ditched the mask and snorkel the Doctor had provided after he realized that there was nothing to see in the water. Just vast stretches of gray mud with the occasional pebble dotting the bottom. He still had the flippers on though, which was technically cheating. But just a little.

He rolled over on his back again and stared at the sky, trying to regain his breath before attempting the long swim back. He spat a miniature fountain of seawater into the air and listened to it splash about him. His red-gold hair was plastered darkly to his scalp, and the pale skin of his taught body glowed white beneath the turquoise water.

He stared at the clouds above him, and without his bidding, his mind began to see forms in them. That one a rabbit, the little sleek one a fighter jet, the gray one a dove or a maybe a crow- very bird-like at any rate. A peculiar itching sensation tingled the in the back of his head.

He realized with a start how human he had become, which made him feel very uncomfortable. That thought led him to thinking about home again, which still hurt him to remember, and about what he had agreed to do...

Why can't the world just leave me alone, he thought. It was nice to do nothing, to just relax, to forget everything. Just for a little while-

And then the sky fell on him.

He started to scream and curse, but his mouth instantly filled up with water. He started to panic, and started pulling at his face that was covered with a slick film of-

And then he heard Nyssa giggle.

She splashed over to him and helped him pull the fabric over his head. He started to launch into a series of expletives, but ended up spluttering something incoherent as he expelled the last of the ocean from his throat..

"I'm sorry," she said kindly as she tread water beside him, "I just meant to splash you, I forgot about the sail."

Turlough was clearly still annoyed, but he was slightly surprised to see Nyssa having, well, fun. He settled for sloshing her in the face with a handful of water.

"Can you swim?" he asked, when she had finished yelping.

"Of course," replied Nyssa indignantly.

"Have you ever body-surfed?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what that is."

A wicked grin spread across Turlough's face.

* * *

"What happens now?" asked Nyssa as she kicked about in the water just outside the surf zone. She was only wearing her bathing suit now, and dusk was already starting to fall, a full moon was high in the sky, turning the dull gray to silver.

"Now," replied Turlough, hovering in the water beside her, "we wait for it."

"It?"

"The Big Kahuna." said Turlough excitedly as he looked out to sea.

Nyssa thought for a moment. "I assume you are referring to a wave with sufficient height and velocity to support our weight."

Turlough's animated features creased in puzzlement slightly as he looked at her. The old Nyssa seemed to be back, it appeared. "Where did you say you were from?" he asked.

"Traken," answered Nyssa proudly.

"That explains a lot," said Turlough.

"And just what, precisely,' said Nyssa dangerously, "is that supposed to mean?"

Ooops, thought Turlough. He paused for a moment, trying to think of a suitably tactful response, and the he saw it. "Quick! Swim for it!" and he started to swim ahead of her with a powerful breaststroke.

"What-" began Nyssa, but then she had turned and saw it bearing down on her, six feet above her head. With all the strength she could muster, she started after Turlough.

In another second the wave had caught up and under them, lifting them in up into the air, and for a few seconds, still swimming furiously, they rode the crest. With a sudden shove, they found themselves coasting up the beach on a few inches of water, and then dumped.

They lay gasping with exhilaration, letting the water rush past them and back into the sea. Turlough turned to Nyssa, "Bet they don't do _that_ on Traken very often."

"We don't do a lot of things on Traken," replied Nyssa as she lay staring up at the starry sky, "I'm only just beginning to realize. But then again, we don't- oh dear..." Her eyes widened as she stared past him back out to sea.

Turlough turned just in time so see a much larger wave slam into his face, and pick him up, tumbling and turning him over and over. He thrust his legs out, trying to gain purchase in the sand beneath, above, around him. His head was spinning as he tried to orientate himself and suddenly he was sprawled on his back on the beach again, sand cemented to his face and filling some very uncomfortable parts of his BVDs.

He turned to see Nyssa lying a few feet from him, her slender form plastered with green sand, her hair tangled with fronds of sea weed and a look of absolute disgust on her aristocratic face. And he laughed his head off.

When he felt a clump of sea weed slap into his face, he found he didn't mind at all.

* * *

It was very odd, Nyssa decided as she looked around her. Turlough was quietly staring at the controls on the central console, obviously uncomfortable as Tegan glared at him for no particular reason- probably out of habit.

The atmosphere was more relaxed than before, she decided, but aside from the tanned skin and rested faces, the familiar tension that filled the Ship when Turlough had arrived remained. Less constricting, but still tangible. Nyssa felt depressed by this somehow.

The Doctor had ushered them into the TARDIS shortly after dark, informing them that a large number of rats often came out and scavenged around cone. Nyssa had entered the Ship to find Tegan had bolted herself in the bathroom, refusing to come out until they were all in the TARDIS and the big double doors had been sealed.

The Doctor stood opposite them by the navigational panel, fiddling with the horizontal hold. Aside from the fact that his long blond hair was a shade lighter, his skin was still pale and fresh, leaving almost no testament of their former vacation.

Nyssa decided to break the silence that hung over the crystal column that rose up and down with the steady rhythm that accompanied them on their flight through time and space. "What are the new co-ordinates?" she asked brightly.

He glanced up from the glowing controls and looked to them, seeming surprised to see them all still staring at him. "I've decided," he announced, "to let the TARDIS decide. She usually knows best."

Tegan gave a little cough.

The Doctor silenced her with a glare. "I said 'usually'," he admitted, obviously irritated. "Besides," he continued as he headed for the inner door of the TARDIS, "She got us to Hawaii, didn't she?"

"I've been meaning to ask you something," said Nyssa as she followed him out of the console room, Tegan trailing behind her. As she reached the door, she found the Doctor was already vanishing impossibly down the corridor. She took a final glance at the console, where Turlough was pouring over the navigation panel, and then started jogging after the Doctor.

They found him in the billiard room.

"Doctor."

His frock coat was slung across the drinks table, his hat perched upon the decanter. He was lining up a difficult shot, the tip of his cue stick hovering just above the felt. He glanced over his shoulder at them. "Yes?"

"Doctor," stammered Nyssa, attempting to get her breath back, "Back on the island, I tried to perform a Stokes analysis of the gravity currents in the ocean using the TARDIS scanner systems..."

"And?" the Doctor asked as he returned his attention to his shot.

"And, I found I had jettisoned the closets instead," finished Nyssa.

Tegan's eyes narrowed.

"Oh really..." muttered the Doctor as he squinted down length of his stick.

"Which closets?" asked Tegan.

"Doctor," pleaded Nyssa.

"All of them?" Tegan asked with growing horror.

The Doctor slammed the cue ball, knocking in the nine-ball that slapped against the seven and six in its path that, in turn, both bounced off the border and dropped into the corner pocket. The cue ball gently rolled into the Eight ball, tapping it into the opposite corner hole.

The Doctor stared in puzzlement at the Two ball that remained untouched, sitting defiantly in the center of the table. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the pool table. "Yes," he muttered, "that's very odd."

"Doctor," repeated Nyssa, "the console!"

The Doctor spun around and replaced his cue on the rack. "Oh, I... ahh, rearranged the controls while you were all outside."

"What?" asked Tegan, bewildered.

"But whatever for?" Nyssa asked.

He pulled his coat back on as he talked. "It relaxes me. It's very boring to have the same control for the scanner for several hundred years. It gives me some different buttons to press."

Tegan stared at him as if he just announced he had decided to regenerate into a woolly mammoth.

"It's perfectly safe," he reassured her.

"Tell that to my wardrobe," she muttered.

"I didn't damage any of the systems," he protested

"You could have at least warned us," Tegan scolded.

"You've altered all of them?" Nyssa asked disbelievingly.

"Of course," the Doctor said as he brushed past them toward the door. "Wouldn't be much point in just switching some of them. I do it quite often actually. I don't know what you're all so upset about."

The room gave a sickening lurch, accompanied by a loud echoing gong that filled the TARDIS. The Doctor and Nyssa were thrown to the floor while Tegan was slammed against the drinks cart followed by the tinkle of breaking crystal.

Brandy soaked into the front of her dress.

* * *

Turlough withdrew his hands from what used to be the navigational control panel and tore his eyes from the still-oscillating column. The Crystal was stuck to the telepathic controls like malevolent barnacle. The console started screeching in unison with the cloister bell. With a growing sensation of dread, he stared as the huge outer doors swung slowly open.

And the world went white.


	2. Chapter 2

**8 Months Later**

If only Nyssa had grabbed a different suit.

She had been in such a hurry to get out of the research bunker with her equipment that she climbed into the first suit she could find. It was ill fitting, loose, and awkward but with the power fluctuations and lighting failures, Nyssa was just pleased to find one with a functioning air pack.

Nyssa was lying on her back on the 'Donut of Death.'

At least that was what the Doctor called it. Torus was a circular – technically, toroidal - planet the size of three M-class planets. Resting inside the center of the world was the gaping maw of a dimensional rift. Nyssa was on the surface of the world investigating an electromagnetic phenomenon that was decimating the indigenous life forms.

Nyssa flinched as another escape pod slammed into the ground, but the concussion wave was too far away to harm her. Frozen within the slick, gray mud, Nyssa could only watch as the pouch of steel and molybdenum splattered its contents across the surface of Torus. As the unspent fuel thrusters detonated, she tried to focus on the ensuing pyrotechnic display but her eyes kept skittering around, watching the bouncing globules of white, brown, and gray: freeze-dried bits of her friends that floated across her vision.

As Nyssa lay plastered to the muck, the research station _Angelus_ above her burned bright, a wounded, fiery manta ray, floundering in its decaying orbit.

Nyssa had left the Doctor on the _Angelus_. Nyssa reasoned the Doctor would have managed to escape, that was assuming he wasn't the one who caused its destruction in the first place. When the TARDIS had broken apart so many months ago, herself, the Doctor and Turlough found themselves aboard the _Angelus_. No one knew what happened to Tegan.

All Nyssa could see now from her prone position now that the wreckage of the station had scattered through the atmosphere was the ever-shifting montage of auroras that lit up the sky of this sunless world: clouds of gaseous emissions that glowed and flared in random, sputtering fractal patterns. She stared at the purple sparking clouds, fascinated, and drifted into a silent, thoughtless reverie.

Shock, she rationalized. She was in shock. The Doctor was probably dead or wounded and she was lying here on her back in mud.

Hendrickson. The thought of her missing assistant pulled Nyssa's mind out of the sky and she looked around her. Where was Hendrickson?

She spied the marine lying three meters away. Saw the spire of rock sticking up through his suit. The dark stains that obscured his helmet.

Nyssa tried to move to help him... that was when she realized that what she was stuck in was not mud.She was stuck fast in some sort of cloudy gel that was smeared across the rock face. She had examined one of these gel traps before when she had first landed on this world: it was a primitive mechanism that a predator utilized to trap and tranquilize its prey. Indeed, her skin, lips, hair, and eyelids were already tingling with a biting numbness. Somehow the gel must have seeped through the fabric of her suit.

In her anesthetized hand, the data pack hummed and vibrated happily to itself, twinkling green lights; the re-sequencing she initialized before the _Angelus_ broke orbit was complete. The device contained an electromagnetic gravitic pulse that Nyssa designed to stabilize the gravity fluctuations that were destroying the indigenous life forms on Torus. It was the reason for her fieldwork on this world, the three months she had spent away from the others. All she had to do was press a button.

Unfortunately she couldn't move a muscle. She could barely even blink. She could only stare straight ahead.

At the figure approaching her.

He was upside down, at least from her point of view. He was a man, mocha skin, hair tied back or tucked out of view. Human, probably. There hadn't been any other species on any of the stations. Nyssa couldn't be sure, but she thought she recognized the patch sewn onto his arm as one of the Alliance vessels. He quickly examined Hendrickson's twisted body before moving over to her.

Nyssa couldn't make out his eyes but she could see his lips moving inside his helmet, presumably speaking to someone on a radio or a subspace band. Or perhaps he was speaking to her. He proceeded to prod at the gel that entrapped her, but soon gave up. Instead, he pulled out some sort of medical scanning device.

There were far too many red lights flashing on that thing.

Suddenly anxious, Nyssa tried to regain control of her body, tried bending her arm, biting her tongue, clenching her stomach, crossing her toes... nothing. She couldn't even move her eyes.

The man put away the scanner and pried a flexi-pack off the thigh portion of his suit. He started withdrawing various objects from within.

Nyssa's curiosity was piqued, but she couldn't read the names on the packages- the hypo-syringes.

Nyssa decided to panic. Just a little. The sudden rush of fear raged through her mind, jumpstarting her thoughts. She felt the urge to kick, scream, and yell.

_So this is what it must be like to be Tegan_, Nyssa mentally giggled to herself.

_That isn't very practical. Try something else._

She regained control, desperate to take great heaving breaths.

Nyssa focused on the man's upper lip. It was lightly peppered with gritty stubble and there was a tiny white circular scar nestled just above where the pink, blood-rich flesh of the lip slipped into the brown of his face. The lips themselves were cracked and peeling from the dry atmosphere of his hostile environmental suit.

Nyssa focused all of her attention on that white scar tissue. Focused and relaxed. Relaxed until she could make out the names printed in black on the floating medical packages that drifted before her gaze. She recognized the name and put the molecules together in her head analyzing the molecular structure. It was similar to what they used on Traken for stomach cramps.

But he was reaching for something else, putting away the other packages in his pack.

On her suit. He was reaching for something on her suit.

As he leaned across her, his badge passed in front of vision: SMEGLEWSKI. Smeglewski reached down and pulled out the slender tube on her suit that allowed the sealed entry of an injector needle in case of medical emergency in a vacuum.

_Similar to what we used on Traken._

Nyssa felt her eyes attempt to widen in alarm. Surely his scanner had informed him that she wasn't human?

Smeglewski removed the syringe from its casing and slid it into her suit, snapping shut the vacuum seal. The syringe was now a permanent fixture of her suit. Her suit with the name _U.S.S. Angulus_ emblazoned on it.

Nyssa suddenly realized that he had no idea she was from a lush, verdant world obliterated from the universe over three thousand years ago. To him, she was just another human survivor from the research station that had an abnormal heart rate and a rather bizarrely shaped liver.

_I'm not human, Smeglewski!_ Nyssa mentally screamed at him. _Look at your scanner again! Look again!_

The torn syringe wrapper floated in front of her helmet and Nyssa could see the name of the chemical compound in written on the silver casing in blackened print.

Nyssa felt herself go numb all over. If that were possible. Even as the molecular structures combined in her mind, the images were chased round her mind by a frantic, panicked scramble of terrified thoughts.

He thinks I'm in shock.

_I am in shock._

He's trying to speed up my heart rate.

_He thinks I'm human._

He's trying to heal me.

_He's going to KILL me! _

A vision of the re-programmed biodata pack flashed into her head, still clutched tightly in her frozen fingers. It was meant to be triggered remotely, from a safe distance.

_There's no other way._

She had to stop him.

_It will _kill_ him._

She could, just barely, move her thumb.

_I mustn't._

_If I don't do this I will die._

He_ will die._

_It's my choice._

_The Doctor needs me. Tegan needs me._

_I need me._

She saw him reaching for the trigger of the hyposyringe.

Nyssa wanted to scream, but could find no breath.

Deep within her suit, inside a padded pocket, a small crystalline lump throbbed into life, seething with fierce white light. Throbbing with impatience.

**Do it!**

In a savage spasm, Nyssa's finger jabbed the dispatch key.

The biodata pack vented its payload.

Nyssa's soul screamed.

The resulting aurora that surrounded her was brighter than any of that in the sky.

Twenty-thousand volts seared outwards in a splash of white, dancing in the air and sparking off rocks and dirt. Mud and grit glowed its wake as the pulse traveled through the liquid-excited atmosphere and slammed into the man.

To Nyssa, isolated by the gel web, the edges of Smeglewski's body suddenly became crisp and sharp, frozen for a silent, glowing instant, before his body starting to tumble slowly, tiny wisps of smoke drifting from the seams of his suit.

Eventually, his body drifted so that their faceplates almost touched.

Nyssa had plenty of time to watch.

His eyes were green. A peculiar mottled sea green shot through with specks of brown.

It was a color Nyssa would never forget.

Unnoticed by Nyssa, the name patch on her suit was reflected in his faceplate. The letters, backwards in the reflection, read: 'HGUOLRUT'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Turlough's Story**

**8 Months, 2 Days**

Free. He was free.

"Ascending forty-six degrees, velocity 456."

Turlough's hands wouldn't stop shaking

He piloted the skiff into a low orbital escape trajectory, looping gracefully outwards from Torus' surface. The gravity anomalies that randomly spouted up from the surface were digitally rendered on the viewer into towering unpredictable red whorls that would occasionally intercepted their path- Turlough kept a constant eye on the display for last minute course corrections. Tanya, his co-pilot, was running through last minute checks before they entered the Ripwell. It had taken him months to get this close, but soon he would be light years from this wretched planetoid and the Doctor, and more importantly, away from…

Best not to think about it… it only made the gnawing in his skull worse.

Ten days. Turlough had been free for ten days. Ten days since he 'accidentally' left the Crystal in his EVS suit. Two days since he saw the _Angelus_ destroyed by an energy burst from within Torus' center. He actually yelled with joy when he saw it falling into the atmosphere, glowing and sparking as it entered the gravity well, taking the Crystal with it.

"You alright?"

The skiff juddered as Turlough jolted awake and stared across at Tanya. "Fine," he answered too quickly. He cast a sidelong glance at her to see if she noticed the sweat on his hands but she seemed too deeply involved in her calculations. Thrummings of Mozart drifted in the air between them. He rubbed his hands on his shirt sleeves. He was thrilled this era had deodorant- the past few days he could have stunk up a Turellian ore freighter.

As soon as he and the others found themselves on the research station, Turlough had tried buying his way off on one of the dozens of mining ships that hovered around Torus, scooping up the valuable materials from the surface and clipping away into the artificial Ripwell, the portal that slowly sucked the ships back into the nearest star system- which was exactly where Turlough wanted to go.

Unfortunately, one drawback (Turlough actually listed every single possible drawback once during an excruciatingly long night at the halls of residence) of being stuck in an English boys school for years on end was that the only cash he had were a few pound notes. After finally ditching the Doctor and Nyssa, he managed to sneak a few meals and some drinks on one of the outer mining stations before he landed in prison. That was where he first met Tanya- his ticket out of this system and far, far, away from the Doctor. And, with any luck, his way back home.

Tanya, like Turlough, was only incarcerated for a night for a minor offence: she was a drug addict, not that Turlough cared. But she also ran her own strip mining operation, about which Turlough cared a great deal. As soon as they were released, Turlough entered her employ as pilot (dirt cheap)- which Tanya liked, no questions asked. Turlough spent the last few months running ore to the relay stations at the Ripwell and the occasional coring samples to the _Angelus_. There was no sign of the Doctor or Nyssa. Apparently, the Doctor was practically imprisoned with the other scientists sanctioned to the Torus Project. As Turlough kept explaining to his Dark-Over the Top-Lord, Turlough could not visit or talk to the Time Lord (let alone kill) without overpowering several hundred armed guards.

Which was fine with Turlough. Not so the Dark Lord. Turlough became so frustrated and irritated with his former employer's whining that he ditched the Crystal in the suit on the _Angelus_ at the first opportunity. It was only thirty-six hours later that the he began to have the nightmares. Seventy-two hours until the shakes started. Classic signs of addiction- and he had a disturbing idea what he was craving. Turlough hadn't slept in seven days. He was sweating almost constantly, couldn't keep down food and was a pale, sticky and pasty mess. Not that anyone noticed.

But today was the day- Turlough request for a transfer to an off-system world had been granted. One more skiff load and he would be at the Ripwell Passenger Relay, Tanya would purchase him a ticket out of here. Light years between him and his fix. He would survive. Bargain or no bargain, he would survive without the Crystal. He wouldn't have a choice.

Turlough altered the skiff's path again as another gravity plume spiraled up from Torus. Ahead of them was the sucking void of the Ripwell, a ravenous red mouth sucking energy from Torus like a ravenous leech. The first explorers to this system were startled to discover that the star collapsed millennia ago, compressing all the matter in the solar system into a circular donut circling the dimensional rift that the star had strangely collapsed into. The researchers were even more surprised to find indigenous life on Torus. It wasn't until the first mining operations began that they realized that beneath the surface of this tubular ring twelve times the mass of Jupiter was a core composed of arcantic plasma- a pure and unbelievably rich source of fluid energy. The plasma flow was diverted into the upper atmosphere and a Ripwell was promptly set up to transmit the energy to systems in desperate need. Smaller surface mining efforts were able, for a small fee, to hitch their ships to a secondary, smaller Ripwell that ran parallel to the main gravity tunnel.

Chopin twittered in the air as Turlough fought to control his breathing. His head was throbbing already and he was finding it very difficult to pilot the skiff. The throbbing was almost as distracting as the music.

"Do you have to do that?" He snapped.

Chopin faded away to be replaced by a low, stretching oboe. "It's never bothered you before," Tanya remarked as she re-checked the systems manifest.

Turlough grinned as he dodged another plume. They were getting closer to the plasma fountain that shot into the upper atmosphere from the surface mines. "It always bothers me- I just usually have so many other things to complain about."

A chuckling flute filled the air. "You are in a good mood today."

"Not if you keep that up," he muttered. "I thought you were going to get that fixed."

"I like my soundtrack…" Tanya protested, sipping from her tubular drink. "Not everyone can appreciate impeccable taste I suppose."

"Not everyone with a Track-chip in their head is a low grade psi." Turlough protested. "I thought you were going to upgrade so you wouldn't bleed all over the place.. It's giving me a headache…. and I am in a good mood. This is me, Turlough, in a good mood. Just because I'm not blasting the _Yellow Submarine_ out of my head, it doesn't mean I'm not in a good mood."

"Mmm…." Tanya put her feet up on the console. "Bitchy, moaning, sneaking, devious… so many moods of Turlough to chose from. Hard to pick a favorite."

Turlough gripped the controls tightly, arcing around the fountain's neck, watching for any random flares. "Sorry we can't all be as lovely and outgoing as you…"

"Ah… Snide." Tanya took another sip. "Bitchy, moaning, sneaky, devious and snide. Sounds like a load of dwarves-"

A trumpet sounded the alarm, high and pure. "Turlough! Watch it!"

The flare, leaping sideways out of the column of energy, broadsided them. Turlough flinched steering the skiff upwards. Mechanical alarms sounded, shrieking in alarm as the energy plume licked the base of the ship. Turlough slammed on the accelerator, hoping to race clear.

Adrenaline flooded through his system as the skiff slipped free, out of the plume. The alarms stopped and he started breathing again. Tanya slumped back in her chair sighing in relief.

And then it happened. Turlough saw it on the scanner: a snaking tendril of blue that arced out from the dimensional rift in the center of Torus. If he hadn't dodged the plume, he never would have even been near it. But the skiff was directly in the path of this strange energy signature.

With a quick motion of his hand, the skiff turned clear of the energy stream- and then his hand spasmed back with a twitch. The skiff veered directly into it. The energy sliced through the ship, passing through the metal hull and infrastructure, sucking the life out of the engines and every monitors it touched until it pass through the forward cabin.

Turlough saw the blue wave enter Tanyas body. Saw it gliding through from her toes to her head.

And then the energy tendril was gone.

The cabin was silent.

Tanya was untouched.

But the cabin was never silent: Tanya never stopped broadcasting her internal muzak. It was her trademark.

Tanya's body untouched, but Turlough could see from her eyes that she was gone, the life energy sucked out of her. She was dead.

As the ship plummeted to the surface of Torus, and Turlough fought to get the systems back on line, he kept swearing and swearing, his hands shaking and shaking, cursing and crying.

He was so close. So close.

The screaming of the burning atmosphere raging against the hull eventually covered the sounds of his sobs.

* * *

After the crash, it took Turlough an hour to get the comms operational and send out a distress signal using what was left in the battery cells. 

While he waited for help, he curled up, still shaking, into a fetal position in the pilot chair and stared outside at the flashing purple clouds and gray rock.

It was then that he saw the figures floating in the distance on the rocks.

* * *

In the airlock, as gravity re-asserted itself, Nyssa's unconscious body grew heavy in his arms and, as painful and familiar as a bully's knuckle, he felt a familiar miniature crown press into his thigh. His stomach twisted as he groaned, realizing that finding Nyssa wasn't an accident, that landing here, sending the skiff into the flare, everything was contrived by… by Him… There was no escape. No way out. The bargain could not be broken. 

Despite his need for it, despite the clawing hunger, he lowered Nyssa's body carefully to the floor. But even as the inner door cycled open and the air from the ship breathed over him, he was ripping the object out of her pocket and, trembling with relief, cupping the Crystal tightly in his hands, tears pouring down his face. As the white glow filled him, his body felt the electric rush of the high flow through his system, shushing the persistent, painful gnawing at the back of his head. Even as he shuddered with pleasure, his heart was filled with dread at what his Lord would soon say.

He slumped against the metal wall and waited for the inevitable echoing voice to fill his mind. There was no way out- he could never handle the withdrawal again. He would rather die.

He knew then that the only way out was to kill the Doctor.


	4. Chapter 4

Tegan's Story 

**Eight Months, Five Days**

Rapa Nui.

Tegan had a lovely view of the village from the platform. The sea was behind her, blowing a gentle breeze across her back and the stars were out in force and the moon was full and smiling.

She was no rocket scientist, but even she worked out what had happened.

It took her the entire first three months mind, but she figured it out.

The sudden pain slapped her head back, and arched her back up into the air. She cursed at the heavens and her fingers tore into the cold rock beneath her.

* * *

Rapa Nui. 

When she first heard the name from one of the villagers, it dangled in her mind, a phatom carrot that she would bay and nip at in her sleep, always just out of reach. Trying to remember the sound of the vowels, the dancing rhythm the sound.

Rapa Nui.

She arrived on the island as a sopping white mess, sun burnt and ravaged upon the white sands and between cool crashing ocean waves. A gift from the sea laid bare upon the beach blessed with sickly strands of seaweed and gasping foam.

The locals were perplexed- their legends held that all the other islands in the world sank beneath the seas centuries ago and that they were the last people on earth. The appearance of the white woman was a surprise. There were whispers that she could be some sort of god. However, word quickly spread of the woman's skin, hair, attitude, temper and pungent smell. The deity whispers petered out even before the sun set on the first day. Being a kind people, they took her into their villages and gave her food and shelter.

During the first few weeks she ate, slept and occasionally celebrated with the villagers- looking back, apparently she did a little too much celebrating- and she eventually retreated to spendher nights to the safety of the beach where they found first her. She had her sleeping mat and the stars- she got into less trouble that way. It seemed, however, that it was a little too late.

Tegan spent the first month waiting near the sea for the Doctor to arrive. She knew he would come, she never had any doubt about that. She knew that if the TARDIS dropped her here, in this tropical paradise, that the ship would have taken even better care of the Doctor. Besides, it wasn't as if anything could even kill the Doctor. She'd seen him die for Christ's sake. No, he would come. Eventually.

When he would come- that was another question.

She grew tired of waiting and spent the next several weeks touring the other villages of the island- it didn't take long as the island wasn't very large. Each village greeted her politely enough, but quickly grew bored- at least it seemed that way to Tegan. Since they couldn't explain her, it seemed, they preferred to ignore her.

Limbo- she was in limbo. Or as she used to chant to herself before it grew old: _she was_ _a bimbo in limbo_.

Before the Doctor, she had her life planned out: globetrotting stewardess. She was confident, strong, and self-reliant. Then she met the Doctor and the following months of sheer terror showed her her puny place in the universe and how stupid she was and-

And she left at the first opportunity.

Then she lived the life she planned: trotted around the globe as a stewardess. Shebecame bored out of her mind, irritated by the petty demands of her passengers, despairing ofhotel room after hotel room and the bitchy behaviour of flight attendants. When she ran into the Doctor again she jumped at the chance to escape reality- reality that paled in comparison to the beautiful and fractal world she had seen with him before.

And now here she was- stuck on an island in the Pacific in some unknown century with still no idea about what she wanted to do with her life.

She decided to use this time to find out what she really wanted in life.

* * *

On month three, three things happened. 

The first was that the villagers discovered her ability to draw. Fortunately for her, art was highly valued in their culture: from wild and chaotic tattoos to sculptures to elaborate carvings. As word of her talent spread, Tegan found herself welcome in the villages and she grew less hostile and less isolated. Apparently to the villagers was okay to be arty _and_ be just a little bitchy, which made a certain sense to Tegan.

The second thing that happened was that Tegan worked out what must have happened. 'Worked out' implied a reasoning process, when in reality everything sort of popped into her head at once: the Doctor had said 'Rapa Nui' in Hawaii just before the ship broke up. Tegan knew, no- felt, that the TARDIS before it was destroyed, writhing in pain must havelashed out into the void and saw that single image in the Doctor's mind as a safe haven and dropped her here, on Rapa Nui. As to why the TARDIS blew up… well, Tegan blamed Turlough, but she couldn't prove anything… that was more of a hunch.

And it made her feel better. Just a little.

The third… that was something Tegan wasn't prepared for. She spent most of that month in denial. And trying to work out sums and days of the week.

* * *

By the middle of month eight, Tegan decided that what she really wanted in life was to kill the Doctor. 

The sea was behind her, blowing a gentle breeze across her back. She was on the platform with the rest of the offerings that the villages laid out to honor their ancestors. A fire burned before one of the larger statues, flickering and snapping quietly to itself, but no one could be seen.

Tegan gasped with the pain and tried to pull herself along the cold stone. She made it this far since the initial contractions hit, but she wasn't going to make it back to the village. Screaming brought no reply- but then again, they were used to her screams during the middle of the night as random nightmares often brought her roughly awake, cold and sweating.

She lay against the cold stone and stared at the stars. She could feel the child moving with in her- her legs were slick with the water of it, her belly ready to split asunder. She let out a shuddering breath that shook her body, and her heart filled with fear- having a child here could kill her, it could all go horribly wrong and she needed a doctor and she didn't know who the father was and she couldn't remember and it hurt so much and she was strong but she could die and she wanted a doctor she wanted the Doctor and she wanted him to save her and her child and _then_ she would kill him and she was so alone-

A soothing touch licked her mind and the fear subsided, slipping into the shadows ofnight and floating up to the stars with the ashes of the fire and the pain was gone- for a moment.

* * *

The women of the village came when her screams of anger changed into cries of pain. Their shadows danced across her skin as they placed a blanket beneath her head, warm hands soothing and strokingher forehead. 

He? She? -Her unborn child was pushing now. It wanted out. She yelled and pushed, feeling it move and shift. In the fierce red light of the fire she could see it, could feel it pushing, tearing, clawing- she screamed with the pain of it, her hands spasming against the cold rock.

The women backed away from her in terror and shrieks and screams and cries fell upon Tegan's ears but her mind was blank, deaf to the world around her as she pushed and sweated and screamed and pushed as her baby emerged, the pink flesh melding, shining, browning, crusting, hardening, scraping, pebbling to see the rounded head, long thin nose and white eyes - it- the thing emerged from her legs

ohmygodohmygodwhaohmygodnothappeningohgod-

With a wet thud the foot long stone statue, slick and sheathed in the blue-red filmy afterbirth, clattered to the rock floor, the fleshy umbilical cord slipping away from the granite navel and Tegan screamed and screamed as the statue grew larger and larger and towered over her and all around her the identical statues stared down at her in the flickering fire light and watched her with white eyes and long noses as her baby- the thing- grew and shuddered in the evil light and to Tegan's deaf ears she heard all the statues on the whole of the Island- of Easter Island, it was Easter Island she was stranded on Easter Island, on Rapa Nui and all of the Moai statues were looming over her chanting, chanting over and over and over again in huge earth scraping voices that shook the skies and smothered her cries, over and over and her baby- her Moai- roared above her over sixty feet tall, still wet from emerging from her flesh and the whole world roared about her in the same chant swallowing her with the sound and the color and the chant pounding in her head:

_**Rapa Nui, Rapa Nui, Rapa Nui.**_


	5. Chapter 5

**The Doctor's Story**

**8 Months, 1 Week Later**

"I'm sorry it had to come to this Miss Grant… you were the perfect companion."

The Doctor shuddered as the needles pierced the limp form. A pale clear fluid seeped from the wounds and puddled at the bottom of the pod. He closed his eyes and exhaled a long breath. "I'm sorry, but you're the only hope I have left."

The hanger bay around him was massive in scale and echoed with silence. Several flitters and skiffs dotted the lift platforms, but there were no people to be seen. The Doctor kneeled over the small pod, tools and wires dancing in his hands and he cast several furtive glances at the interior doors. Before him, across the expanse of the metal floor, was a backdrop of stars and the mammoth hulk of the Torus- only the invisible semi-permeable force field separated the hanger of the station _H.M.S. Faith_ from the vacuum of space.

"I've locked the inner doors, but there's no guarantee that will keep them out. I'm hoping they don't realize I'm doing anything special- this is simply a standard reconnaissance probe they send into the center of Torus all the time. If they realize something is amiss with probe itself, they may destroy it once it leaves the station- but it's me they want- I think." The Doctor chewed on a bit of wire. "I know this may seem a bit desperate, but there's very little time left."

The figure lay silent inside the pod.

"I don't expect you to answer of course, but I've found that if I talk through a problem as I'm working on it, I make fewer mistakes- and the others- well, I'm not quite sure what's happened to them- I only just made it off the _Angelus_ in time myself. I hope Nyssa-" The Doctor pulled a device from his pocket and began to attach it to the side of the pod. "Even when everyone else deserted me, you've remained at my side, Miss Grant- I hate to have to do this to you, but you see, I didn't realize what Torus was. I've been working with the researchers on the project for months but I couldn't see what should have been so obvious. We spent all our time trying to send probes _into_ the center of Torus, trying to get through to learn what was on the other side of the rift... completely the wrong approach- but I didn't realize- not until I found Nyssa's research in the mainframe about the native Toran life forms." The Doctor waved the little datapack sadly. "If only I'd spent more time assisting her."

There was a muffled bonging sound from the interior door, as if some heavy metal object was rammed against it.

"Ah, yes." The Doctor pulled the toolkit closer and rummaged through its innards. He extracted a small black bowl and placed it by the pod. "This is probably very confusing. Let me start from the beginning: Torus is old. Agonizingly old. But overall, perfectly stable. It wasn't until these idiots decided to mine the poor thing that it got nasty. When they punctured its crust and vented the plasma stream, Torus reacted defensively. It's probably what damaged the TARDIS… poor girl, she must have been scared witless. You see, the Torus is one of the few things in the universe that could damage her…"

The ominus banging on the inner door ceased. The last bong resounded ominously.

"I sent a signal out through the Ripwell months ago for the TARDIS to find us, but I am a bit worried that the old thing hasn't turned up yet."

Klaxons sounded and red lights began to flare, turning the hanger into a giant, deadly discotheque.

"Hmmm…." The Doctor causally reached over and flicked a switch on the upturned bowl that looked for all the world like a spaghetti strainer. There was a momentary globular purple flash that enveloped both the Doctor and the pod. "I was wondering how long it would take them to think of that."

The force field spanning the main door sputtered and died. The air screamed away out through the opening, the precious oxygen dispersing at terrifying velocities. The moisture froze into tiny crystals that raced into space.

The Doctor sucked on a screwdriver, happily protected within his invisible bubble, still chatting away. "Now, let's see where was I… despite all our attempts, we haven't been able to get a probe through the center of Torus; they just pass through the top and out the bottom, but not apparently _through_ the rift itself. They no longer function, but otherwise they're perfectly unharmed. Just like, as far as we can tell, the bodies on what was left of the _Angelus_ that got hit by a tendril. Although they were dead, their bodies were completely intact with no apparent cause of death.

"Now, the virus that was decimating the Torans started at the same time that the drilling operations began- complete coincidence if you listen to the corporate lawyers of course.Nyssa discovered a cure thatI spent all yester day analyzing... this is, of course, when things get interesting."

The red lights stopped flashing and the main lighting dimmed as the hanger force field reactivated and the main ventilations systems resumed pumping in air.

"I'll try to put this in the simplest terms possible- everything has an energy signature, whether it's a cat, a dog, a carrot, salad dressing…" The Doctor waved around him for emphasis. "Everything can be represented by this signature. For instance, you may hear a song, but you can also see the pattern displayed on the average sound system. Energy represented in different forms. Objects can have their patterns represented in the same way. Now, the big question is, why do you like that song and not others? Why do you like certain paintings but not others?"

The hangar was deathly quiet.

"They say that there's no explaining taste, but you see, it's a question of frequency. Since everyone has there own wavelength, a unique signature at a unique point in time that represents them and only them. Other patterns you encounter can conflict, even cancel out- i.e. you will only like things that are on the same wavelength, or on a completely opposite one. Essentially what Nyssa discovered was that the indigenous life forms evolved by feeding off the background energy leaking from Torus. When the miners vented the plasma stream, it altered the energy signature that they fed off, and they began to starve. Nyssa's solution was simple but elegant. She introduced a counter frequency, altering the background pattern into one that that was more compatible with the life forms by using sort of an electromagnetic virus wave form."

The Doctor paused, considering. "I sometimes wonder what I did to deserve her… She sort of just popped up on Logopolis- terribly convenient. It's always bothered me a bit…"

Then he spied the first of the SVE helmets popping over the edge of the outer hanger door. The guards cautiously pulled themselves into the hanger and removed their helmets, primed their rifles and strode across the vast open space towards the Time Lord.

The Doctor overturned the toolkit, scattering the implements across the floor in his haste to find a finklegruber. He contined talking, but faster now. "To beat the song analogy to death, the tendrils lift the music off the page; the paper and the notes are still there, but the sound is gone. The song could be played again of course, but it wouldn't sound exactly the same. That's why none of the bodies were physically harmed; their atoms remained, but their energy was lifted out, leaving nothing behind…. we've never been able to revive them. I suppose you could say it took their 'soul', but I'm not really that sort of person… and it is that signature which is sent through the gateway, through the dimensional rift in the center of Torus. I have a hunch why it would be constructed to do this, but why isn't the important question right now. The mining operations are causing Torus to lash out in self-defense- I fear it is going to send out a final massive defensive pulse of these tendrils, which will suck the life out of everything, well for at least several galactic clusters. It will probably use the Ripwell system to reach other systems- inadvertently, but still catastrophic… I did warn them about positioning a Huxem gravity portal so close…"

The Doctor snapped the final connection in place and started slamming inspection hatches shut as the boots clicked nearer. He ignored the shouting. "We've tried probing into and punching our way through Torus, knocking on the 'door' if you like, but no one's thought of _talking_ to the door itself. I have to convince it not to send out any more pulses- which is where you come in I'm afraid, Miss Grant."

The figure in the pod trembled with the vibrations as the Doctor powered up the pod's thruster cells.

The guards closed in a circle around the Doctor- but they were savvy enough to stand out of the way of the pod's nose cone. One stepped to the perimeter of the Doctor's force bubble and tapped the edge with a device that resembled a meat thermometer. It buzzed quietly as the Doctor continued to apologize to his captive.

"I've used a variation's of Nyssa's cure, sort of a retro-virus. But it only works on organic matter. It's, um, sort of added to your energy signature- piggybacked you with a message. For Torus. To end all this. I only hope it's in an agreeable mood to listen."

The power pack on the Doctor's bubble-field quavered and died as the last of the energy was siphoned away by the guard's equipment.

The suited figures pressed their rifles inches from his face. Their helmets were clipped to their belts; their faces were angry and grim as they glared down at him.

The Doctor looked up at them and smiled a sheepish grin. "It's ah, well it's a bit funny," he began. "You see, I usually have better timing than this."

The rifles emitted an ominous whine as they were primed. Six laser sights painted the Doctor's hearts- both of them- the red dots skittering over the coarse wool of his jumper.

The chanting, when it came, was barely audible, but it brought a huge smile to the Doctor's face. "There she is…" he sighed.

As the soldiers looked around in alarm, the Doctor stared down at his last remaining companion of this regeneration. "Jo would have been proud." He closed the panel and sat back on his rump as the pod's thrusters kicked it forward scattering the guards. "Insulted at first," the Doctor considered as he watched it skip through the hanger and soar through space towards Torus. "But proud. Eventually." The pod shrank to an invisible point in the black void. "Probably."

The rhythm of the giant voices hammered through the hanger, deafening in volume, the same rhythm repeating over and over again, roaring and wheezing and groaning in a familiar sound that the Doctor rarely had the opportunity to hear- only now did he appreciate how wonderful it trulywas.

The sixty-foot Moai statue shuddered into existence in the center of the hanger, towering over the guards, its white eyes glowing, its dark volcanic form dripping blood.

The guards opened fire, their rifles spitting glowing energy bolts that bounced off the form, ricocheted around the hanger and slammed into the flitters and skiffs that twisted and burst in loud, violent, coughing explosions.

The Doctor ran at the guards from behind, leaping and rotating his body ninety degrees at the last second, his chest, legs and feet crashing into the small of their backs, bowling them over. As they sprawled forward onto the floor, the Doctor carried the momentum of his roll and sprinted for the colossal statue.

As the Doctor got closer, the Moai flickered its colors, shifting from black to white, to red to gold to green to yellow, ramping downward to a familiar and solid blue. The shape shrank in stature, becoming thicker, more box-like. More like home.

And as the Doctor threw himself through the TARDIS doors, the tiny probe flew through off into space, skimming above the atmosphere of Torus and curving in an arc that lead straight for the center of the planetary donut.

It rushed headlong into the blue tendril of energy that lashed out to meet it. The fiery blue light slipped through the surface of the pod and scythed through the pod's silent prisoner.

The tiny pod re-emerged on the other side of Torus, its hull intact, but its energy systems were dead. It continued to drift- its lone occupant, a solitary stalk of celery, remained nestled amid a cluster of defunct wires and needles. The pod drifted off into deep space, while behind it the atmosphere of Torus raged in a fierce blue light. The raped plasma fountain geysered outwards in fury towards the mining ships, catching several smaller ships off guard. The larger mining vessels began to veer away- but too late.

From the center of Torus swept a double mushroom shaped blue shcokwave- the energy pulse that would decimate a multi-verse swelled outwards from Torus and boiled with antic light as it headed for the cluster of orbital stations and research vessels- and the welcoming mouth of the Ripwell which would spread the blue fury through the unsuspecting outer systems.


	6. Chapter 6

**Torus-**

Torus took millennia to build. But the architects had time on their hands. After all, they were Eternals.

While the majority of their kind roamed the Universe in search of diversions to help them fend off the gnawing boredom of eternal life, after the first few billion years, a group known as the Yerekek, decided that they'd had enough. It was time to move on.

Banished and shunned by their people, they setup shop in a backwater system with a quartet of gas giants that circled a dying sun.

The Eternals built Torus as a doorway. Nothing more. They left it behind, forgotten, awaiting the last of their kind. But strangely none ever came.

It was the only way that an Eternal could pass on to… on to what they hoped would be Heaven. The tendrils of Torus, when carefully directed, would lick the body of an Eternal and pass the soul through the gateway. To heaven.

The Yerekek were, essentially, an Eternal suicide cult.

Torus was sentient in the sense that it possessed its own controlled energy signature, meant to dispatch each Yerek through and remain operational after the last passed through.

It had remained dormant so long that it took several months to react to the rape caused by the mining operations. By then it knew that it was too late- it would soon die. So it decided the only way to send the last of the Eternals through to the other side was to send everything in the Universe through at the same time. It would send everyone to Heaven at once- whether they liked it or not.

It spent several months gathering enough energy and analyzing the Ripwell that clung to its atmospheric skin like a vapid leech.

As it unleashed it's final, desperate surge, Torus' sentience touched a miniscule, yet stimulating morsel. The energy signature it tasted was tiny, yet direct. Coherent, unlike anything it had tasted in a billion years.

It studied the message and understood.

Torus reversed the energy swell: the wave came crashing back into its surface, plunging deep into the core, scything through every atom before sucking itself through the dimensional maw.

The planetoid remained, its huge mass rotating silently in space, but the intelligence was gone, the dimensional rift was gone.

Torus left to follow its masters into the unknown- where it would no longer be alone.


	7. Chapter 7 End

**The TARDIS' Story**

Tegan

Tegan sat on the stone bench and took in the blue sky, listening to the sound of the artificial breeze rustling the ivy.

She was in the Cloisters. She hadn't been here in a long time- not since she first met the Doctor. It seemed so long ago now. Then she was confused and afraid; now she felt only peace.

Tegan had woken up on the bench, swathed in ivy, her body completely healed. She remembered everything from Rapa Nui, of course, but her body held no trace.

The Doctor found her staring up at the TARDIS sky. It was a bit of a blur now, but she remembered that he seemed relieved to see her- she was to tired to moan, let alone try to kill him.

There was always tomorrow, as Aunt Vanessa used to say.

She had muttered to him about everything that had happened, about being stranded, about the island, the pain and the birth.

The Doctor, although contrite, commented that she ought to be flattered. He explained that when the TARDIS encountered Torus, the ship fled to a place of safety to recover, forcing the chameleon circuit to activate- not just taking Tegan with her but taking refuge _inside_ Tegan, until the TARDIS recovered enough to re-form. Upon emerging from Tegan's womb, the TARDIS attempted to blend in with its environment- and aided by the subconscious expectations of the natives- morphed into one of the great Moai statutes of Easter Island before departing to answer the Doctor's signal.

The Doctor left for the console room- to find Nyssa and the brat, leaving Tegan alone with the- with her child?

Her whole life she had spend recklessly storming from one situation to another, blind and desperate, leaving nothing behind but death and destruction- no friends, no direction, no accomplishments…

She was alone for hours, but at some point Tegan realized that she helped nurture a ship of Time.

She found herself gently weeping as her fingers caressed a trembling, beautiful leaf of ivy.

**The Doctor**

The Doctor's hands twittered and fluttered as they hovered over the diverse array.

The fingers dived down, the paused, considering. Hovering.

Choosing one was always the toughest part.

He was alone now. He had found Nyssa and Turlough together on one of the medical frigates- the ship, along with all the surviving vessels from the Torus system were limping back to the home sectors, the orbital stations and the Ripwell abandoned.

He was worried about his companions: Nyssa seemed withdrawn and distant, unwilling to speak of her experiences. Turlough seemed fine, if edgy, but the Doctor tried not to think about Turlough too much. The Doctor had cleansed the telepathic circuits, but you never knew who was listening.

Tegan- well, Tegan seemed flushed with health and energy. Once she woke up.

He knew he'd have to have a much longer talk with her about what happened but he wasn't eager to tackle the subject again. Not yet.

He surveyed the selection one last time before plucking one particular slender object out of the bag. Smiling with satisfaction, he closed the refrigerator door and gave it a little pat as he pinned it to his lapel.

The stalk of celery was perky and leafy, firm and unyielding. It was perfect.

The Doctor swept out of the TARDIS kitchen, the muttered words "Come along, Miss Smith," drifting over his shoulder.

**Nyssa**

Nyssa was asleep, dreaming of:

Running down corridors.

Getting shot at.

Being threatened.

Misunderstood. Their intentions always misunderstood.

_Why?_

Watching people die.

_Why?_

Father.

_Why?_

Adric.

_Why?_

Hendrickson.

_Why?_

Leaving them behind.

Never ends. Never ends.

Doesn't make a difference, not really.

She had nowhere left to go.

Always more people to save. More people who threaten. More misunderstanding. More death. Then we leave. Again. Recursion. Full circle.

Isn't this where it all started?

Make it stop.

Please...

Ashe was there, looking at her.

They were standing in the Grounds, hidden from the brilliant stars above by the thick green fronds of the shifting foliage. _Mystinia_; Nyssa identified the species with a glance. It was native to Traken. Of course.

It made her sad because she knew now that this was a dream.

And Ashe would be gone when she woke up.

For now though, Ashe was still here, staring at her through the mist that hung in the thick rainforest haze of the Grounds. Nyssa reached out for Ashe, but didn't dare touch. She didn't want this to end... not yet.

The hair was the same, a swirl of brown and gold framing the round face, the firm tight lips and the watery gray eyes. Ashe hadn't aged a day.

Ashe and Nyssa were Promised when Nyssa was just six. They had stood side by side as their parents had signed their contracts and taken their genetic samples for confirmation when, twenty years later, both families would share access to their collective libraries. There was no need of land, armies or wealth in the Traken Empire; information was accessible to everyone. But artifacts from beyond the Empire, from outside the galaxy were rare. Families often hoarded certain alien texts, even if they couldn't read them. Translating them was half the fun. And Nyssa was a daughter of Tremas, favorite of the Keeper who maintained their biospheres and who had frequent dealings with outer system aliens. This made Nyssa the catch of catches on quiet Traken.

Nyssa didn't remember the ceremony, of course, or crying when the sampler had pricked her ear. But her mother had told her about it, and so Nyssa had formed her own images of it in her head, watching her six year old face go beat red and pelt out a really good shriek, while Ashe looked on, slightly embarrassed, knowing who's turn it was next.

Ashe was wearing that tiny frown, the same puzzled frown that was worn on an adult face fifteen years later.

Memories cheat. Emotions never lie.

Nyssa was crying now as she remembered the End could you cry in dreams, she thought? but dreams are no place for rational thoughts and Nyssa's mouth shouted a silent scream as the world around her, as if evoked by her thought of the End triggered its, the plants around her fading in color, downshifting from brilliant green to sickly, pale, translucent gray as the universe dissolved around her and Ashe, the white smears swallowing the glistening walnut hair, erasing the soft white skin.

Once again her world was being erased from the universe; again she had to watch it happen from the outside as she had before with Adric so long ago. Then she had watched in disbelief and with a growing sense of nauseous horror, helpless.

Nyssa, composed and proper while she watched the Big Bad Man decimate her existence and laughing all the while.

This time, though, she screamed.

Screamed as she watched Ashe's gray eyes fade from reality as her world was erased.

She had done nothing to stop it. She hadn't been able to do anything. But she was a different person now: older, changed.

It was time for her to make some changes, before she faded away and joined Ashe forever.

Time to move on. To make a difference.

**Turlough**

Turlough wandered through the corridors glad to get away from the others. Neither the Doctor nor Nyssa seemed to wish to discuss his failed attempt to ditch them in the Torus system, which was fine with him.

But he had nowhere to go, nor had he found anything resembling a weapon on the medical frigate. He boarded the TARDIS to complete his mission empty handed- except for the Crystal.

All Turlough really wanted was to lie down. He wanted to sleep for days.

But he had no room. The bedroom the Doctor had given him before was gone- jettisoned by Tegan, which Turlough didn't really understand, but it made a certain sort of sense.

He kept walking, the Crystal warm and comforting in his pocket.

**The TARDIS**

As Turlough wandered down the many roundeled corridors, the walls of the TARDIS around him darkened with menace.

She wasn't going to give in so easily next time without a fight.

**End note:** Thanks to the folks at Fanfiction for encouraging me to complete this, especially Patrice- it was part of a NA proposal that go rejected long ago, and looking back, I see why. The first two parts are the same, but I wrote everything else this weekend- it feels good to have it done at last, even as a chunky, disjointed piece. Hope it all made sense. Thanks to Jim Mortimore for teaching me how to torture companions and kill on a galactic scale. Perhaps someday there will be the New New Adventures of DW- here's hoping. Until then, there's and ; and although I won't be writing Who for a while, but I'll damn sure be reading!

Peace and all that

dave

ps. Please send comments/thoughts. I'm not entirely sure this thing is comprehensible…


End file.
